


winter sun

by deadwine



Series: textures [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soft Touchy Seokhoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadwine/pseuds/deadwine
Summary: Seokmin takes a step in Jihoon’s direction again— a hand curling around the hem of his jacket—  like his body is in a state of constant free-fall, incapable of withstanding Jihoon’s gravity.
Relationships: Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Lee Seokmin | DK
Series: textures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058192
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59





	winter sun

**Author's Note:**

> speed-written in the matter of two hours after two months of no writing, inspired by seokhoon in the mama inside svt clip that has plagued me all day. un-betaed stream of consciousness, please bear with me.

Jihoon is the last one to pile out of the van, shivering under glaring lights of the parking lot. He’s too tired to move, despite a full night’s sleep, the unrelenting weeks past by finally catching up to his body.

Once all the vans are emptied, he shuffles out of the snug circle of Soonyoung and Jeonghan around him and jumps onto Seokmin’s back without as much as a greeting. He is yet to fully stir from the haziness of the winter morning but awake enough to take cognizance of which body around him is the most pliant.

Seokmin takes it in stride, as he always does: he crosses Jihoon’s arms around his neck and holds on to the legs hanging by his hips, tucking the knees into the crevice of his elbows. Jihoon exhales, breath tickling the hair at the base of Seokmin’s neck and Seokmin lets out a breath of his own, his back moving in tandem to the rise and fall of Jihoon’s own chest.

The trek to the practice room takes longer, Seokmin's own sleep-slow movements hindered by the fully grown man latched on to his back but he only pauses once, in the elevator, to nudge his nose into the hollow of Jihoon's cheek. Jihoon can't help the rush of warmth to his face, can’t help sinking his face further into Seokmin's shoulder until the traces of his reaction fade into the red of Seokmin’s hoodie. Hansol and Minghao are none the wiser.

Unsurprisingly, they’re the last ones left to go in— the _only_ ones remaining in the hallway, deserted as it is at seven in the morning; managers and the rest of the staff on duty have hurried inside to start rehearsals at the earliest.

The door of their practice room swings shut behind Minghao just as Seokmin slides Jihoon down, gently placing him on solid ground. Jihoon’s arms are still looped around Seokmin and he revels in the firmness of Seokmin’s spine, the muted clean smell of fresh laundry that he exudes. They stand like that for a while, back to chest, nothing but their sighs misting into the quiet cold.

Slowly, Seokmin loosens the grip on his waist and turns around in Jihoon’s hold. He looks to be a blink away from slumber, the creases on his face all smoothened out but for the hint of a smile, a tiny, precious thing— like the rays of the sun peeking out of the covers on a cloudy day— a private joy he reserves for Jihoon’s pleasure. Jihoon’s own fondness must be written all over his face because the rays grow into a full beam, unmistakable when Seokmin pulls his mask below his chin.

Seokmin leans in, close and closer still until Jihoon can trace the curve of his eyelashes, can count every open-close shutter of his eyelids as Seokmin peers back. A hand finds its way to his ear, trailing along the thin band of his mask and his eyes flutter close, expecting the thin fabric to be pushed away as Seokmin’s nose nudges against his.

There’s a low chuckle against his cheek before a warm pressure touches the strip over his lips, the tilt of a full smile on Seokmin’s mouth ghosts Jihoon’s frown, lingers— over the chin jutting out, moves up, up up and flits over his forehead before pulling away completely.

Jihoon’s eyes fly open.

“What the fuck was that?” He barks as he grabs the front of Seokmin’s hoodie and shoves at him— fond eyes, indulgent smile and all— putting distance between their bodies. Seokmin’s smile does not waver.

“What do you mean?”

Seokmin takes a step in Jihoon’s direction again— a hand curling around the hem of his jacket— like his body is in a state of constant free-fall, incapable of withstanding Jihoon’s gravity.

Jihoon scowls. “I thought you were about to kiss me, what else?”

“So, you were expecting it?” Seokmin grins in amusement.

“No—”

“Oh you _wanted_ it?” He teases delightedly, arms now reaching behind Jihoon; a light tug, no insistence lest he should lose the upper hand. Jihoon, fool that he is for Seokmin’s warmth, goes willingly, nestling his head under Seokmin’s chin.

“Tell me, hyung,” Seokmin mumbles into Jihoon’s hair, “did you want me to kiss—”

The door beside them creaks open and they spring apart; only slightly, their hands still clutch each other in a gesture too familiar to be thought extraordinary even by someone that isn’t privy to their intimacies.

Junhui looks pointedly at the space where they were entwined only a second ago.

“Hurry up, we’re all waiting for you two.”

**Author's Note:**

> title inspiration+sensory worldscape: [ this molly fisk poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54997/winter-sun)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/deadseoull)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/deadwine)


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